


Sweet Serial Killer

by plastic_cello



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 09:00:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2502041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plastic_cello/pseuds/plastic_cello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes were the same entity; they shared the same skin and they shared the same muscle memory. One couldn't exist without the other, no matter how many psychiatrists and head doctors said otherwise. No matter how many times Steve said otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Serial Killer

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by the songs "Serial Killer" and "Gods and Monsters" by Lana Del Rey

* * *

 

_Baby, I'm a sociopath,_  
 _Sweet serial killer._  
 _On the warpath,_  
 _'Cause I love you_  
 _Just a little too much._

**"Serial Killer"** \- Lana Del Rey

 

* * *

 

Recovery took time and patience. Everyone had told him as much. The Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes were the same entity; they shared the same skin and they shared the same muscle memory. One couldn't exist without the other, no matter how many psychiatrists and head doctors said otherwise. No matter how many times Steve said otherwise.

Acceptance was the first stepping stone to recovery. He had to accept the fact that he had been a weapon for seventy years that wreaked destruction one political figure at a time. Even if his memories were muddled, black blobs that were barely taking form now; he had to accept what he had done and that his hands were stained forever red.

The exact number of kills left in his wake was unknown. HYDRA's files on him were extensive but incomplete. From the little he remembered he had spent much of his time in Soviet Russia. He recalled the whip of frigid air across his cheeks and the thigh-deep snow that crunched underneath his combat boots. So presumably he had been passed from a Russian organization to HYDRA or vice-versa sometime in the past. Maybe he'd simply been loaned out, no better than a sniper's rifle or a rusty revolver.

No one fully knew the history of his time as the Winter Soldier. All he knew for certain was that he'd been a monster longer than he'd been human. Bucky Barnes was almost a novelty act; a pantomime that had run its course and ended in the early half of the twentieth century.

Less and less he could accept his former identity. Steve called him Bucky; most veered towards Barnes and Natalia called him James. None of those names seemed suitable; not when he expected a firm and no-nonsense voice to call him Soldier. He waited for it like clockwork; he waited for a snide and cocky voice to call him Winter. But it never came; he shouldn't want it to come, of course not, yet he did.

His fingers twitched insistently; his eyes narrowed into impossibly small slits, waiting for an order that would never come. He wanted something to do beyond therapy sessions and memory exercises that were meant to unearth Bucky Barnes's experiences. He hated the sentiment; he hated everyone's attempt to humanize him.

Weapons weren't meant for anything but to be fired. So when he was disassembled, forgotten on a dusty shelf in a vault; he knew what he had to do. He needed to take hold of his own purpose and do something proactive.

It started twelve weeks ago. One of New York's famous publications had been tossed haphazardly in front of him, followed shortly by a snarky comment from Howard Stark's son; whom believed he needed to learn of world events in order to assimilate in this current century. And while the thought was distasteful at best, he had opened the newspaper and read word after word and suddenly found a purpose again.

The newspaper read like a dossier of former missions he'd been assigned to. Dignitaries, prime ministers, and senators spread across the pages and objectives (which collided with HYDRA's ideals) were his to study. He devoured publication after publication until he had enough information to complete a mission.

Weaponry had been kept out of his reach; money had not been, though. In a city as large as New York one could easily find military grade weaponry without too much trouble. He had found many of his favorites in seedy alleyways and bought in brown paper sacks, which he then stored in a monthly paid storage unit in the Bronx.

No one had been any the wiser. He continued his therapy sessions religiously; he attempted half-heartedly to slip into the Bucky Barnes persona, although the man was more mystery than he liked to admit to still. And no one even suspected him of his late night wanderings.

His cache of weapons grew; he wore his uniform whenever he was alone (after he had disabled the security system with Steve's blessing). He found his niche again; he found his purpose. Bucky Barnes wasn't someone he could be anymore; all he was and ever could be was the Winter Soldier.

One brisk evening, he had slipped unnoticed from the skyscraper that Stark's son owned and took the train to the Bronx. His uniform had been stored in a ratty backpack over his shoulder and he went unnoticed in a city of characters. Not a soul suspected what or who he was; no one spared him a glance as he switched trains and eventually wandered street after street to the storage unit in a rundown part of the burrow.

Once he had gotten into the storage unit, he had dressed appropriately and armed himself with every sort of weapon imaginable. And that had been the beginning; a foreign dignitary from Colombia had been his target that evening. He had killed him from a rooftop across the way from his five star hotel; midway through a tryst with a pale-skinned stick figure of a woman. She had been a casualty of silence as well.

Political figures big and small had fallen victim almost always biweekly, sometimes weekly, at his hand. The same newspaper that sparked his desire to follow HYDRA's world order was now splashed with headline after headline of an assassin roaming the city. Seedier publications called him a serial killer; an insult to say the least.

Killing was not a sport, it was a necessity. A weapon hadn't any purpose otherwise. He hadn't any reason if he could not do what he was built to do. Without a purpose, he would have nothing. His existence was pointless.

Slowly and silently, he eased open the window to his empty apartment suite and climbed inside. Steve had insisted that they temporarily reside with Stark's son. HYDRA operatives were still on the loose he claimed, and they would do anything to have him back in their clutches. He never vocalized that that might be for the best, even if he thought it more often than not.

Steve wanted Bucky Barnes back; he wouldn't allow him to slip away, despite how inherently different he was today. He couldn't deny Bucky Barnes as much as he couldn't dismiss the Winter Soldier. They were both him; the Winter Soldier was just the glove that fit the best, though.

He shut the window and quickly scanned the room for any disruptions. While none were visible, he still shouldered off his backpack and upturned the sofa cushions; got onto his hands and knees and peered under furniture for any bugs that could have been installed in his absence. Stark's son could not be trusted, particularly when he was so bothered by him disabling the security system earlier on in his stay here.

Steve had sided with him on the matter. He had said it was a violation of his privacy and HYDRA had already stolen so much from him. They had made him a feral animal, one that they monitored twenty-four seven. So he deserved to be unobserved in over seventy years.

Stark's son hadn't been happy but he relented. When Steve put his mind to something, it was impossible to veer him off that road. That was one thing he remembered quite clearly. Steve Rogers never backed down from a fight, even if he was outnumbered and outmatched.

After a thorough sweep of the living room and kitchenette; he moved into the obscenely large bedroom and let muscle memory take over. He hadn't gone to the Bronx after his mission; the streets would undoubtedly be blocked due to the fact he had killed a highly respected member of Congress that one of his former handlers had loathed in life. So he was still very much armed and grabbed a bowie knife that had been strapped to his thigh.

He threw the blade with precision, but did not hit his very apparent target. The shadowy figure who'd taken residence in the room smoothly tilted their head, and had gotten out of the way of the blade's trajectory just in the nick of time. It was a shame, although he quickly recognized who it was and knew it was to be expected.

Stark's son had taken in a purported god to be his lover. Loki had attempted to enslave the human race and even brought forth an alien invasion. None of this he knew from firsthand knowledge; if the records were to be believed, he'd been in cryosleep for the duration of the attack. HYDRA had chosen to let SHIELD handle the situation without their intervention. He hadn't been needed then.

"What a queer greeting." The god drawled, as he looked over his shoulder at the knife embedded into the drywall. "From what I understand, you weren't allowed to carry any weapon. But here you are, armed and ready to kill."

He didn't reply. The Winter Soldier wasn't a trained liar; he was a weapon. Weapons didn't need to justify their actions; they were made only for the intended purpose to cause death and destruction. He owed the god nothing in terms of an explanation.

Loki raised an inquisitive eyebrow, before he moved to pull the knife from the wall. Bits of plaster crumbled from the hairline fraction that spider-webbed outward after the initial impact. He watched Loki closely, but chose not to make any abrupt movements. Loki was an otherworldly being and that meant he would be harder to kill than his usual targets. He wasn't invincible; he could be killed still though.

"I know about your nightly rituals. I have to say you intrigue me, Soldier. Such an uncivilized creature, forced to mingle with others and deny your base needs." Loki pontificated, while lazily spinning the blade around. "They're trying to unmake you; so many tireless years of becoming the perfect weapon and they want to take it away from you. And for what, really,"

The thought had occurred to him many times. Why would anyone want to help him? He was subhuman; he recalled little about his former life, and no matter how much Steve desired it; he couldn't become Bucky Barnes again. Bucky Barnes had died before he was resurrected as the Winter Soldier. There wasn't any way to go back now.

Therapy could only do so much. Recovery was a slow trek up Mount Everest; or so that was what Sam had said in a way of an analogy. It wasn't going to be easy; coming to terms with being a murderer obviously wouldn't go over smoothly. Yet, Bucky Barnes barely surfaced and the Winter Soldier continued although far more aware than he had been before.

"Men like you, they need order. They need discipline." Loki continued leisurely. "Without direction they are lost. They are hopeless and useless and pointless otherwise."

Each word rung true; he was useless without direction. He needed someone to assign him a mission and take care of the details afterwards. His newfound freedom was far from liberating; it crawled underneath his skin and made him uncomfortable. Because he needed order and discipline and some kind of structure beyond the one provided to him currently.

"I'm loath to help, but I am sure we can come to an agreement that'll work for the both of us, Soldier." The god closed the distance in between them, before he offered the knife back to him. "I'll provide the structure and discipline you need, while quenching your insatiable need to kill. But you will do everything I demand of you. My word will be your creed."

"I thought you were reformed." He finally spoke; his voice was rough with disuse. He couldn't recall the last time he had actually spoken.

Loki stared at him closely and chuckled in a way that would offend someone. In his case, however, he didn't find any fault with it. He had been humiliated openly; worse things had been done to him as well. This he was certain of, although the details remained murky and unformed and they might remain that way forever.

Not only did he suffer from amnesia, but he had also suffered from extensive brain damage. No matter the advanced technology or even Zola's variation of the super soldier serum; neither could reverse the critical damage done to his brain. So he'd been told to prepare himself; that he may never remember everything and that maybe his short-term memory might suffer as well.

As far as he could tell, his short-term memory wasn't an issue. He worked with details; small nuances that no one else could see. He had had to have some sort of photographic memory to retain so many details. But he understood where the problem lied, even if he didn't address it as frequently as all the doctors he had spoken to would have preferred him to do.

"I thought _you_ were reformed or in the very least in the early stages of reformation. But as you know how incredibly difficult it can be. And can someone truly change their nature? Can we possibly be do-gooders after everything that we've seen and experienced? No, my dear Soldier; this is who we are. And you might be useful to me yet."

"What do you want?"

"What I've always wanted – a throne," Loki nudged the knife towards him until he took it. "I cannot wage a full-blown invasion like last time. I'm lacking an army, for one. I've learned my lesson; subtlety is the best approach."

"Subtlety," he repeated dully.

"You will rid me of nuisances, Soldier. It'll be no different than you are used to."

"Has Stark sent you?" He spun the knife around, pointing the blade into Loki's face.

Rather than laughing as he had done only moments ago, Loki rolled his eyes instead. He didn't appear alarmed by having a knife pointed into his face. That was a mistake. God or not, his eye could be gouged out within a matter of seconds if he wanted to go down that road.

"You must be joking. Stark is an asset but nothing more. Any love he harbors for me is not reciprocated, although I've allowed him to believe so. But it's only an ends to a means."

"Understood,"

"So will you take my offer, Soldier?" Loki looked at him expectantly with dark eyes.

Sometime in the past, he remembered someone staring at him like that. It was expectance but truly he knew he hadn't had a choice. Whatever the phantom from the past had wanted, he would do so loyally. Because weapons, good soldiers, did not disobey orders especially from a commanding officer or more specifically their keepers. They did what they were told, despite it being veiled as a question.

Sheathing the bowie knife back onto his thigh, he nodded a fraction of an inch. It proved to be enough, though. The god smile widely; a row of perfectly straight white teeth that looked almost shark-like and probably could kill if need be. He reminded himself to veer on the side of caution while dealing with Loki, despite not knowing why he wanted to live anyway.

"Let's make our pact official, shall we?" Loki reached out and grabbed him by one of the straps of his vest and pulled flush against him. "I heard the custom is to seal a pact with a kiss."

"Only with Stark involved," he muttered blandly, but the humor was foreign to him.

Bucky Barnes made his presence known at inopportune moments. He would appear like a tiny specter in swagger or word; sometimes his face would even soften into something carefree and young, regardless of the five o'clock shadow and empty eyes that he possessed now. Bucky Barnes wanted out but he couldn't find his way yet.

Loki ignored him as he tilted his head and pressed a firm kiss to his mouth. The sensation felt strangely familiar and he allowed himself to become swept up in it. Muscle memory; it was muscle memory from seventy years ago (maybe earlier although it was impossible to tell). He only knew that he responded in kind, as if he was programmed to.

His mouth moved in tandem with Loki's. Their lips brushed over one another's, before Loki's tongue slithered its way from his mouth, and licked confidentially over his bottom lip. Distantly, he wondered if this is what drew Stark's son to Loki. Did Loki seduce him like this? Did he make a pact with him too?

The answer wasn't forthcoming, although Loki's tongue was. He licked wetly across his bottom lip still and the tip of his tongue prodded its way into his mouth. Loki was assertive; he didn't wait for him to react, he forced him to. And the only way he could was by obediently running his tongue against the god's until bursts of warmth surfaced in his blood.

The kiss was severe but oddly sensual. Loki kissed as if there was a battle to be won. He dominated the contact, using his tongue as an extension of his power. He took his breath away and continued to suck him dry up until the point of no return.

They broke away eventually. Both of them were breathless, inundated by the other's taste. The god tasted unusual; a creation of spices and mints that couldn't have originated on Earth. He swallowed the taste, reveled in it for several moments before he was faced with the reality of the situation.

"You will serve me well, Soldier." Loki murmured and stepped away; he had yet to release him though, and he was forced to follow as every faithful soldier should.

Loki led him to the foot of the bed, where his eyes only darkened further. Something inside of him stirred in anticipation. It was the unknown but the known; lifetimes of sensation and experience that were frozen underneath black ice. He knew he experienced them, though. He knew and his body knew all too well too.

Deft fingers slid down the front of his body, unbuckling straps as they went. They touched him self-assuredly as if they belonged on his person, and maybe they did. He had all but given himself to the benevolent god in front of him. He was in the hands of a potential ruler; someone who could bring the world to its knees. He was fighting for something again.

Efficiently, he was stripped of his vest before his muscle shirt followed. Loki stared at him, similar to a curator examining a piece of artwork. Unlike the great art pieces of centuries passed, he was scarred and war beaten. He was a collision of old world and new; a body brought into the world in the early twentieth century and fashioned with an arm stripped from the pages of comic books and sci-fi novels.

The contradictory nature of his physiology did not dissuade Loki. His hand touched the side of his neck and moved across the plates of his metal arm. They whirled, almost appreciatively, underneath his touch until he pulled away and reached for the belt around his waist instead.

"You are resilient; a man out of time." Loki opened the buckle with a predatory grin. "My ultimate weapon, if you will."

He didn't say a word. Obedience relied on silence not words. He listened and did not speak; words only got in the way. Weapons did not speak; perfect soldiers remained at attention and kept their mouths closed. So did serial killers.

Loki dropped to his knees in front of him, and proceeded to untie the laces on his combat boots. He had them unknotted quickly and pulled them off his feet even quicker still. His socks followed and soon his trousers were being wrestled down his legs; weighed down by an arsenal of weapons that should have been properly stored but were not.

His sniper rifle had already been disassembled and left in his back pack in the other room. The other weapons stripped off his body were insignificant in comparison, and would not be missed if they had somehow gone missing. He had plenty more where they had come from.

Once he was stripped completely bare, the god stood and stepped back as if he wanted to admire the picture he made. Red-hot approval seemed to curl across his face; hunger even. Which had been another memory from one of his past lives; he had been desired before, although he didn't know by whom.

"Formidable, so much stronger than Stark could ever be," Loki touched his throat and then his chest. "You are a soldier; you were built to carry another's will upon your shoulders. That is your calling, your purpose. And that's all you'll ever be good for."

The sentiment didn't hurt; if anything he agreed with it. He knew what he was; he knew what his function was. The god wasn't telling him anything new. There wasn't any reason for him to be upset; he probably couldn't muster up the emotion for it anyhow.

Emotion was burdensome. Unfortunately, that didn't mean he hadn't been struck by soul-crushing emotion once he learned of Bucky Barnes. When vague recollections of a childhood so long ago and a skinny boy who would never give up worked their way into the forefront of his mind, he had been gripped by sorrow and regret. Currently though, he didn't have a problem keeping himself in check.

Loki took a hold of him by either side of his face, and pulled him into a teeth-shattering kiss. He didn't object to it either; he allowed Loki to dictate the situation and manipulate him however he wanted to. This was structure, after all. This is what he wanted in some capacity.

Loki's tongue forced its way back into his mouth, licking greedily behind his teeth. He responded automatically, as if he somehow knew what to do to deepen the kiss and make it more satisfying. His tongue met Loki's and they soon were lost completely in the motions.

The world seemed to darken around them. He felt like they were the only two entities alive, as if they had accomplished the god's plan for world domination already. The chemistry between them was oddly powerful and burned through his body like an inferno. It scorched him from the inside-out, to the point where he had to grab onto the tunic Loki had worn that day.

They kissed for what felt like hours; hard and brutal kisses that eventually turned messy and wet. Spittle dribbled down his chin, while their tongues flicked and danced with one another. Loki's hands worked their way into his hair, ensuring that he couldn't weasel away. He never would, however. Not when he needed this.

"Obedient and eager," the god pulled away with swollen lips and a devil-may-care smirk. "I will take you apart piece by piece and assemble you the way I see fit."

Before anything intelligible could come to the forefront of his mind, he found himself belly-down on the mattress with a mild twinge of vertigo. Magic; that was the only way Loki could have done something like that to him and within the blink of an eye too.

Peering backwards over his shoulder, he witnessed another party trick that the god had up his sleeve. His body was enveloped by a faint light, which caused his clothing to disappear and leave behind ivory skin and rip-cord muscles and a nestle of black curls above an impressive erection that stood proudly as if it wanted to be seen.

"You are mine, Soldier. You crave subjugation and I will give it to you." Loki got onto the bed and grabbed him by the ankles and pulled his legs apart abruptly. "Ah, much better,"

Long fingers ran up his calves, before they worked their way to the back of his thighs. Goose flesh prickled at his skin, which felt surprisingly human. His heart was frozen and the frigid winters had made him hard, but he supposed it only took the touch of a god to make him more human than he'd been in decades.

Uneasily he held onto the edge of the mattress. He trained his eyes onto the upholstered headboard, while his body was manipulated by touch. Every movement he was keenly aware of; every stuttering breath from Loki was catalogued away for future reference. Even his own physiological responses were duly noted.

His member was heavy between his thighs and twitched with every movement of Loki's hands. He shut his eyes, wordless as Loki's touch crept over the swell of his buttocks. Vaguely, he wondered who had been the last person to touch him like this. Had it been consensual? Or was it a part of his duty, a mission even?

There wasn't any answers, though. His mind could only recognize sensation; sexual arousal and anticipation and recollection. He felt his body tense with each stroke of Loki's hand, sending an electric jolt into his erection and continuing to make it impossibly hard and swollen.

"A body that death built," Loki purred and squeezed his buttocks hard; almost painfully hard. "I can smell the blood on you; years of blood and carnage. The smell of a warrior,"

The god lowered his face and nuzzled the small of his back. His breath was hot and sent a shiver up his spine. He was at Loki's mercy and he was at ease with it. He accepted the vulnerability of his current circumstance and relaxed every muscle of his body; something that he presumed he'd been trained to do.

Ghost kisses were pressed along each of his vertebra, over the groove of long since healed wounds. He was addled with scars both big and small. Bullet holes and stab wounds decorated him front to back, although none were as impressive as the scar tissue that formed around his cybernetic arm.

He was a monster. It was the only definition that suited him. Steve had called him a victim; his doctors had echoed the sentiment until it lost its power. The victim stance seemed so contrived, far removed from what lurked inside of him. Because would a victim still be compulsively drawn to righting the world in the most violent way possible?

Serial killer was fitting; monster even more so. Bucky Barnes would have hated this; he wouldn't have been able to live with himself. A bullet in the head would have been preferable to an existence like this one. But Bucky Barnes didn't have a say anymore; his voice was muted, thousands of miles away and lost in an icy ravine somewhere in Europe and to never be heard from again. He was gone.

After several moments, Loki made it to the nape of his neck. His tongue flattened against his skin and licked away the beads of sweat that had begun to form there. Reflexively, he shuddered as he felt another expansion of arousal in the pit of his stomach. He wanted Loki to touch him everywhere and to dominant him until he was dizzy and pliant as a housecat.

Loki pushed his hair to the side, in order to focus further attention onto his neck. Tongue and teeth scraped across his jugular, which made his vision darken around the edges. He knew this was what pleasure was; this is what yearning felt like and he couldn't do anything to speed it up. He was only the instrument that brought his handler pleasure; any residual sensation that he experienced wasn't intended but appreciated all the same.

"I could have you any way I please and you'd let me, wouldn't you?"

"Yes,"

"I could spread you open, vulnerable and exposed, and you would let me. I could degrade you, humiliate you, and abuse you and you would allow it. Because that's all you've known for so long, Soldier. You've only known how to follow orders; that's all you want to do as well." Loki breathed against the shell of his ear, while he rested his body on top of his.

The god was surprisingly heavier than he looked. His body pinned him against the mattress, although he didn't remain immobile. Aligning the hardness of his erection in the crease of his buttocks, Loki rocked his hips and let out an appreciative moan; which reverberated and nestled its way into his groin.

He held on tighter to the edge of the mattress, and swallowed any unnecessary sound that wanted to bubble out of him. Handlers were different; some preferred him to be vocal, while others still enjoyed silence. Strong but classically handsome liked silence; scrappy and rugged and gruff wanted to hear him scream.

Blankly, he stared at the headboard and wondered where that knowledge had come from. Without warning, sometimes he recalled insignificant details of his life. Little things could trigger them, out of context, and no closer to the full story than before they invaded his thoughts. Seeing as he didn't know who those people were, but somehow their presence lingered on still.

"I'll have you keening for me, Soldier. I will chip away at that frozen persona in due time." Loki thrust his hips forward one last time, before he pushed off of him, and returned his able hands onto his buttocks once more.

Unlike his previous chain of actions, Loki deviated from them and pried open his cheeks with a gentleness that contradicted his personality. Anticipation roared in his ears as he waited for the other shoe to fall. Luckily, he wasn't forced to wait beyond a few choice moments.

Hot air blew across his more intimate of parts, which made his body go rigid. Loki blew across his exposed ring of muscle again, before something wet lightly prodded at him and stole his breath away. It was like a punch to the gut, but not completely unpleasant especially when the prod evolved into a lick with the flat side of the god's tongue.

A sharp exhalation of breath escaped him, as Loki lapped at him and slowly traced around him with precise flicks of his tongue. Heat rushed through his body at an alarming rate until he felt like an inferno encased in flesh. And it only became unbearably hot with Loki's continued ministrations that were meant to thrill him into a frenzy.

Loki continued to tease him with his tongue. He licked around him and over his entrance until his legs began to quiver. His eyes slid shut and he lost himself temporarily in the pleasure. All of this was so familiar; he knew he'd been in this position at least once, if not numerous times. Someone, maybe many people, had treated his body similarly. Some had treated him worse. But they all worshiped him to an extent because he was theirs.

Gradually, the god abandoned his treatment of his entrance and trailed his tongue downward until he reached the spot behind his testicles. Loki licked him, before he placed an open mouth kiss against him, and finally extracted a noise from him. The noise wasn't loud by any means; however it seemed to please Loki all the same.

"Soon you'll fall apart completely for me." Loki cooed as he kissed over that spot again, and traveled even further downward so that he could nuzzle his sac. "I'll have it no other way, Soldier. And I know you are built to please, are you not?"

"I follow orders."

"Yes, where would you be without them?"

"Nowhere," he whispered and he knew it was ultimately true.

Without order and direction, he had nothing. He had only survived this long by emulating what his former handlers what have wanted. But there were only so many assassinations that could be committed before Steve and his friends became suspicious. He was intelligent enough to know that, expected it even.

Loki tongued over each of his testicles, and drew one into his mouth which he suckled on enthusiastically. The arousal became that much more apparent; his body had gone lax and moved of its own accord, rocking against the god's mouth in hopes to prolong the ecstasy that rippled down his spine and into the base of his erection.

An impressive groan burst out of him, once Loki treated his other testicle to the wet confines of his mouth. He was enraptured, no longer an entity of his own control, and he was relieved by it. He hadn't even known what relief was, really; not until that moment where his freedom was taken away from him again.

As Loki's mouth focused on testicles, his hand reached underneath him and pulled his swollen member backwards and began to stroke it. His erection twitched almost violently and unleashed a flow of bodily fluid that Loki used to his advantage.

"I want to hear you. Your excitement is undeniable; your need to be controlled is utterly obvious as well." The god chuckled and kissed the point where thigh met buttock, and it felt almost intimate.

Any intimacy was an illusion, however. Intimacy only existed as a tool for control. This had been taught to him by the man who'd been his handler for years. He must have been his handler; young and old, old and young but the same blue eyes and even tempered tone of voice. Firm but not cruel, unless it was called for; discipline required a firm and steady hand. Spare the rod and spoil the child.

That train of thought soon fled from his mind. Loki tugged on his erection and tongued across the protruding vein on the underside of it. His mouth dropped open in a series of moans that couldn't be silenced even if he wanted them to. He was captured once more by the god's actions and everything else faded away.

Pleasure consumed every cell in his body. He could only focus on how Loki's tongue teased and flattened and did every imaginable thing to him. He was even receptive to the thumb that started to rub at his entrance in an apparent attempt to relax him for greater things soon to come.

The combination of those dueling sensations worked their charm. He was as relaxed as he could possibly be at the moment. The sudden cool jelly-like feeling that urged him open knotted his insides and made him tense automatically, and caused some temporary difficulty on Loki's end.

Whatever was being pushed into him was not organic. He groaned as he was breached and felt an expansion slowly start to build inside of him. It was akin to a balloon being slowly filled with air. And the consequences of his body being stretched open were painful but manageable.

He dropped his head to the bed, allowing himself to be manipulated as Loki saw fit. He continued to lick and stroke his member, while that foreign entity moved in and out of him in a lazy and unrushed pace.

"Ah," he gasped when he was penetrated deeper and more forcefully.

"Your pleasure isn't my goal, but a willing partner is better than the alternative." Loki murmured with a final lick to his erection. "You are quite a sight to behold, Soldier. If only you knew how delectable you truly are."

Sweet nothings were equally manipulative as intimacy. That didn't mean he wasn't receptive to it. The physical reactions were difficult, almost impossible, to suppress. And it became harder to think of much beyond the rush of pleasure that hit him from every side, especially when whatever was inside of him struck his prostate.

His body tensed and a guttural, almost animal-like, noise filled the bedroom. Only seconds later, the same sound left him and became a chain of notes that spilled from his mouth without hesitation. He was lost completely now and the circumstances of why he was spread open didn't matter at all.

He was treated to several more impressive thrusts, before the inorganic presence was pulled out of his body and left him in quite a state. Sweat beaded on every inch of his skin and his limbs shook from the ripples of ecstasy that he'd been served with over the duration of the god's appearance in his suite.

"No more of this." Loki hooked his arm underneath one of his legs, and easily overturned him like he weighed absolutely nothing.

Now positioned so vulnerably on his back, he could stare at Loki without any obstruction in his way. Loki's lips were curved up into a wicked smirk, while his green eyes looked almost black. His erection had turned a plum color and looked as intimidating as the rest of him did. But that didn't mean he wouldn't fight tooth and nail to bring down the god if it came to that.

Tonight's events didn't seem destined for murder, however. Then again that could simply be wishful thinking; there was always a possibility to be betrayed. And from what he knew of the god's reputation, he really shouldn't let his guard down at all; although that long since happened when the pleasure overtook him.

Loki rested back onto his haunches, as he reached for him and pulled the lower half of his body into his lap. He didn't put up a fight, not even when he felt the bulbous head of Loki's member pressed against his entrance. After all, this was only an ends to a means; this is where structure began and he needed it badly.

With a severe thrust of his hips, Loki breached him fully and reawakened the pain from minutes ago. He hissed softly and looked up to see unfiltered ecstasy on the god's face. There was something powerful about knowing he was the cause of that reaction, even if he shouldn't feel that way in any way. A weapon only felt powerful while loaded and pointed at an enemy. They weren't meant to yield any other power, especially not over their handlers and particularly in such a vulnerable position.

"Oh," Loki took a hold of his hips and began to move him up and down without any hesitation.

The pain persisted; it bloomed brightly at times, but he suffered in silence. He attempted to focus on anything else. He studied the crinkle of Loki's eyes, the quiet noises that escaped him, and the thick and heavy piece of flesh embedded in him that twitched as his muscles clenched around him.

Loki moved him with confidence, spearing him over and over again. He managed to keep himself somewhat upright by his elbows, and attempted not to rip the bed dressings to shreds. It became a matter of self-control and self-discipline; two things he knew very well, but it became harder to practice with every movement Loki made for him.

"Marvelous specimen," the god praised him, becoming more and more insistent with pulling him into his lap until the movement started to border on erratic. "You haven't been used in years."

As he was pulled onto Loki's erection, he also began to snap his hips. The god plunged deeper inside of him, forcing his way through his stubbornly tight walls. Each thrust brought forth another deep-seated spark of pain, but it also tapered off to something not so unpleasant. It wasn't pleasure yet, by no means; the potential was there, though.

Breathy gasps and moans belted out of the god soon enough; he was quite a sight to behold. Beautiful wasn't a word that usually came up much in his lexicon, yet Loki seemed like a prime example of it now. He was deadly and beautiful and was controlling him like he deserved to be controlled.

Maybe that was what brought the pleasure to the surface; the knowledge that he was in someone else's capable hands instead of his own. Whatever it happened to be, he was struck by the sensation moments after that realization. It started at the base of his spine and burst like a supernova throughout the rest of his body shortly thereafter.

He bit down onto his bottom lip as he was consumed by ecstasy. The pain was still there, but it was only a side note; barely audible at points as Loki pulled him down harder onto his cock. They both seemed to realize it and that caused Loki to grin like a jackal.

"You've come around. I knew you would." Loki snapped his hips in quick succession; practically bouncing him in his lap now.

His erection bobbed against his stomach, trickling precum and aching to be touched. He didn't dare attempt it; Loki would either allow him the relief or not. His release was optional, even if it was the only thing that was at the forefront of his mind now.

Loki administrated several more thrusts, before he leaned forward and bent him nearly in half. His legs were thrown unceremoniously over the god's shoulders, and he was now face to face with him and could now look directly into his eyes. Loki's pupils were dilated and almost fully black and reflected something dangerous behind them. This was the would-be conqueror that he heard about so many times in passing.

Viciously, Loki canted his hips forward. His erection sunk deeper inside of him; deeper than it probably should have gone even. He was full, somehow taking almost every inch into his body; which made his abdominal muscles contract and made him feel dizzy and almost sick. But like many things, he instinctively knew that he'd been subjected to similar treatment in his past life. He'd been abused to the point of physical ruin before, yet he continued to survive.

Planting his hands on either side of his head for leverage, Loki started to fuck him with renewed force and speed. Discomfort eclipsed pain but discomfort was eventually overwritten by pleasure again. His body was beginning to adapt to Loki's girth and length, and was taking strides to accept him with every thrust of his hips.

The bed shook underneath them and the headboard slapped against the wall with each powerful movement. The treatment his body was exposed to was equally jarring; to the point that he was making a litany of sounds that sounded less like a weapon and more like an animal in heat. His limbs were trembling and his insides tightening around Loki every time he plunged inside of him.

"You are mine. I'll use you in every fashion imaginable." Loki snarled as he pushed his hips flush against his buttocks; intentionally forcing himself inside all the way to the hilt. "You will be my weapon, my assassin, my soldier."

"Yes," he managed to say, although his voice was stolen from him as the god rolled his hips in small circular motions; as if he wanted to ensure that he remained fully sheathed inside of him and claim him as his very own.

"You'll answer each one of my orders without fail. Because you were made only for that; petty and mindless and empty as you are." Loki slowly withdrew until only the head of his erection rested inside of his body.

His muscle fluttered in a feeble attempt to close back up again. Loki had a different plan in mind though and abruptly shoved his member back in with force. The motion whitewashed his vision and made him bite down onto his tongue hard enough to taste blood.

He grunted as the god treated him to brutality that set his nerve-endings on fire. His eyes remained focused on Loki, as they continued to collide over and over again. Their skin slapped together in a steady beat that reminded him of rapid gunshots in the dead of night. And it felt too good for words; articulation was never his strong suit, and it failed him even more right now.

"Touch yourself." Loki ordered firmly, despite the temporary quiver to his voice.

It was a direct order, one he was swift to follow. With his flesh and bone hand, he circled the base of his erection and started to pump himself to match Loki's thrusts. He felt his testicles start to draw up, heavy and ready to be emptied; which only made his strokes become more focused and single-minded.

Pleasure so thick and consuming, rolled its way across him like a wave. But it truly hit its peak when Loki hit his prostate once, twice, and then for a third time. His head flopped backwards and a high-pitched whine came out of him that was promptly swallowed by the god's mouth on his.

Just as Loki's lips touched his, he struck his prostate with another hard thrust that sent him over the edge. His whole body tensed up; muscles taut and limbs weak, and his erection pulsating and jerking with release in his hand and spurting sloppily over his stomach. He came with a silent cry against Loki's lips, which prompted a similar fate from Loki only seconds later.

Wet and warm liquid filled him and painted his insides, before he was granted permission to breath once more. Loki withdrew his mouth from his and let out a guttural noise of appreciation. His hips rolled as if he wanted to prolong his climax longer than it already was.

They didn't remain entangled beyond two or three minutes, though. Loki slipped free of him and dropped his legs from his shoulders carelessly. He didn't mind; he was quick to pull them up to his chest, as the god retreated from the bed in all his pale-skinned glory. Both of them were covered in perspiration and other bodily fluids, but neither seemed to mind.

"A pact sealed," Loki said as he ran a hand through the tangle of his ebony mane. "I'll be in contact soon, Soldier. Until then, I would advise you to cease your nightly rituals. We wouldn't want the dear Captain to catch onto your deadly hobby, now would we?"

He didn't respond beyond sitting up in bed. The pleasure was gone and the soreness was beginning to find its niche quite nicely in his muscles. He watched unenthusiastically as the shift of light and air rose around Loki and soon covered him in his casual attire once more. There wasn't any indication of what they had just done.

The god smirked at him in a condescending way then. It reminded him of the rugged one with the bad attitude; all law and order until the hammer came down on him. Fucker this, fucker that, fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Do you love him?" He asked quietly and he didn't know why he brought it up when Loki had spoken about it earlier in his visit already.

"Love who?"

"Stark; do you love him? Or did you lie about it before?"

"Weapons do not ask questions." Loki leaned into his personal space with sudden but blazing contempt in his eyes. "Mind yourself, Soldier. Or you will not be around to witness my new world order. Do you understand me?"

"Understood," he said and was granted distance again.

The god withdrew but his eyes remained on him. Maybe he believed he would strike out; the possibility was there, certainly. However, he wasn't stupid; he knew his place and knew when to attack. He had been programmed for obedience and obedient he was.

"I'll send for you soon, my sweet serial killer." Loki said in means of goodbye, before he was enveloped by a brighter light that soon caused him to disappear entirely. Of course, he had to have the last word in; one that was delivered with a smug smile at that too.

The insult lived in the air, bloated and infected. Bucky Barnes couldn't denounce it either; he had killed on the front lines, the 107th infantry. He was a sniper that shot down any Nazi bastard that came into his crosshairs. And the Winter Soldier was even more bloody and violent; he had taken too many lives, insignificant and otherwise, to count.

Weapon, soldier, assassin, and serial killer it was all the same. All of those words made up the Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes and the entity in between. Whatever this entity was, it was deadlier and uglier and the world would know why soon enough.


End file.
